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A GRANDFATHER'S 
OFT TOLD TALES 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 




1861-1865 



By ALLEN D. ALBERT 

Private, Company D, Forty-fifth Pennsylvania 
Veteran Volunteer Infantry 



Grit Publishing Company 

WiLLIAMSPORT, Pa. 



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A GRANDFATHER'S 
OFT TOLD TALES 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 




1861-1865 



By ALLEN D. ALBERT 

Private, Company D, Forty-fifth Pennsylvania 
Veteran Volunteer Infantry 






Grit Publishing Company 

WiLLIAMSPORT. Pa. 






To My Grandchildren 

THIS BOOKLET IS DEDICATED 

in the hope that the incidents herein narrated may picture 

to them some of the realities of the 

Civil War of 1861-1865 



WHY? 

WHEN my children were at home their mother 
frequently urged me to make out a list of the 
battles in which I participated, and to record on 
paper some of my army experiences. The children sec- 
onded this request, but not until now, when my grandchil- 
dren have become old enough to be interested in the great 
war between the North and the South, have I thought the 
time opportune to jot down a few incidents of my mili- 
tary life. This is not a history of my regiment, or a de- 
tailed history of my army experiences, but a short ac- 
count of those incidents of which I have spoken most 
often in telling my children of my life in the army dur- 
ing the Civil War. 

When I volunteered to fight for the flag which traitors 
were striving to dishonor and a Southern oligarchy was 
determined to destroy the Union of States, I was a boy, 
not yet eighteen years old, and was a student preparing 
to enter Gettysburg College, Gettysburg, Pa., in the 
autumn of 1862. 

In the spring of that year, moved by the patriotism im- 
bibed in home and school, by the love of glory and the 
spirit of adventure natural to youth, I cast aside my books 
and enlisted to fight for home and country. 

That my grandchildren may know what I did, where 
I battled and may be able to realize somewhat of the 
realities of war, I have written this booklet. 

ALLEN D. ALBERT. 

1727 Kilbourne Place, N. W., 
Washington, D. C. 

June 1st, 1913. 



A GRANDFATHER'S OFT TOLD 
TALES OF THE CIVIL WAR 



A GRANDFATHER'S OFT TOLD 
TALES OF THE CIVIL WAR 



As you read the history of the Forty-fifth Pennsyl- 
vania Veteran Volunteer Infantry you may won- 
der why your grandfather became a soldier boy. 

My father was fond of history and from my earliest 
days told us historical stories and created in me a liking 
for military affairs, so that, when as a reward for work 
well done he allowed me to choose some book, I invariably 
selected the story of some military hero, and in this way 
became the possessor of that historical romance — Abbott's 
Life of Napoleon Bonaparte. In addition to father's 
teaching, my sister was an omnivorous reader of his- 
torical novels and I read the books she brought into the 
home — Charles O'Malley, Jack Hinton, etc., with the 
result that I dreamt of becoming a miltary hero. 

I was a student in Turbotville Academy when political 
events hastened a civil war which blazed forth April 19, 
1 86 1. My schoolmates one by one enlisted in some vol- 
unteer organization and went off to be "soldier boys." 
I asked my father's consent to enlist, but he refused, 
adding that I might go when the Government needed 
more men. 

1 



A GRANDFATHER'S OFT TOLD 

On a visit to my sister, who lived near Solona, Pa., 
in the early spring of 1862, I saw the posters of Captain 
Austin Curtin of Company D, Forty-fifth Pennsylvania 
Volunteer Infantry, calling for recruits to join his com- 
pany in South Carolina. I concluded the Government 
did need more men, but dubious whether father would 
even then consent I ran away and joined Captain Curtin 
at Lock Haven, Pa. But l^efore I did this, to determine 
whether I could endure the test of a long march, I walked 
from Nittany Mountain, near Salona, to Williamsport, 
Pa., a distance of thirty-five miles, almost twice the dis- 
tance w^e ever marched in one day as soldiers. 



TALES OF THE CIVIL WAR 



THE FIRST YEAR 

WITH the captain I went by rail to Camp Curtin 
at Harrisburg, Pa., where T was sworn into the 
service of the United States, March 29, 1862, 
my age at that time being seventeen years and six months. 
I was uniformed and supplied wth knapsack and haver- 
sack. 

When I sat down on a rough board seat at a rough 
board table to my first meal furnished by Uncle Sam I 
was given a tin cup of black coffee and a thick slice of 
bread. I looked up and down the long table and in won- 
der asked, "Where is the butter?" A roar of laughter 
answered the question, and I was informed by a half 
dozen soldiers that butter was unknown in the army 
ration. 

A night or two later a fire occurred in Harrisburg and 
a number of us broke guard and went down town. As 
we were returning someone suggested that we form as a 
company and being such a large body we would overawe 
the guard and enter the camp thus escaping arrest and 
punishment. While trudging along we were stopped by 
an authoritative "Halt." We stopped short and the voice 
said, "Who are you?" Our spokesman said. "We are 
soldiers and were down town to see the fire." The owner 
of the voice — Colonel Sol Meredith — demanded our 
passes, which, of course, we did not have. "Forward, 
March," and this one man in authority marched forty or 
more of us into the guard house, where we were kept for 
twenty-four hours on bread and water. 

3 



A GRANDFATHER'S OFT TOLD 

That was the only time I was ever under arrest. 

Shortly after, Captain Curtin took his recruits to New 
York, where we embarked on board the steamer Cosmo- 
politan and sailed away to Hilton Head Island, S. C. 
This was my first voyage by sea and J made it without 
being seasick. 

We arrived there in April and I, for the first time, saw 
growing palmetto trees; the dewberries were ripe and 
vegetation much different from the climate of Pennsyl- 
vania. 

I was assigned to Company D and supplied with a 
Harper's Ferry musket, cartridge and cap box. We 
were drilled every day and performed the duties of sol- 
diers — guard mount, picket duty, bayonet exercises, etc. 

Company D was camped on Pope's plantation. The 
driveway to the planter's house was bordered with olean- 
ders in full bloom and our camp was in a grove of orange 
trees. We used the green oranges to pelt one another. 

There were two villages of slave quarters on the plan- 
tation, and one of our recreations was to attend the daily 
evening prayer meeting of the negroes held in front of 
their quarters ; after singing, praying and exhortations 
the ignorant darkies always had a dance. 

Their so-called religious songs were very nonsensical. 
This is one stanza : 

"Des (death) he am a little ting, 
He go from do' to do', 
Sometime he come on Saturday, 
Sometime de da befo'." 

One day I was doing picket duty on Lady's Island. 
An inlet of the sea (Atlantic Ocean), separated us from 
the main land, where in a large white house the rebels 

4 



TALES OF TPIE CIVIL WAR 

quartered their pickets. The inlet was fully a mile wide. 
One of their number came down to the beach for some 
purpose. I raised my gun to a high level and fired, and 
the rebel fell and was carried into the house by his com- 
rades. This was the first rebel soldier I injured. It was 
not so much good marksmanship as chance that enabled 
me to hit him ; we had been shooting at one another be- 
fore this and our bullets fell short, splashing in the water 
close to the beach. 

One day one of the pickets upon being relieved from 
duty was cleaning his gun and becoming provoked, swore 
fearfully. Upon being reproved by his comrades, with 
an oath, he said, *T was not born to die in South Caro- 
lina." No sooner said than he fell forward in a fit on 
the beach and died. Ovu* chaplain. Rev. Gibson, at the 
burial, preached a forceful sermon on profanity and 
blasphemy. 

Our officers required us to keep our guns and accoutre- 
ments scrupulously clean; the gim barrels were rubbed 
with sand paper until they shone like polished silver, and 
when not in use were oiled and placed carefully away in 
our tents. Corporal Samuel Roop, a Pennsylvania Dutch- 
man, was very proud of his gun and brasses, which shone 
like a looking glass. One day when he was absent from 
camp on picket some one, to tease him, dipped his gun in 
the salt water of the inlet and returned it to its usual 
place. When Sam was provoked he would say, "By 
golly, gosh, darn !" So when he came back to camp and 
discovered that his gun was covered with rust he burst 
out with "By golly, gosh, darn, who did this." The boys 
had gathered around to have fun teasing him, and ex- 
pressions like these greeted him — "Sam, don't swear like 
a baby, swear like a man." "Be a man, Sam, swear 

5 



A GRANDFATHER'S OFT TOLD 

right," etc. He rose to the occasion. Swelling up with 
wrath and indignation, he vociferated, "By golly, gosh, 
darn, damn!" amid shrieks of laughter and howls of 
merriment from his tormentors. 

In July, 1862, on board the steamer Arago we sailed 
away from Hilton Head Island, S. C, for Newport News, 
Va., where the Ninth Corps was organized with General 
Burnside in command. On this voyage I was slightly 
seasick. 

From Newport News to Acquia Creek, Va., was our 
next move. We guarded the military railroad from that 
point to Fredericksburg, the regiment being quartered 
at Brookes Station, Va. Here, on August loth, I took 
sick with intermittent fever, no doubt contracted in South 
Carolina, and on September i, with the other sick, was 
sent to Washington, D. C, on a hospital boat and reached 
Clifbourne Hospital, just east of Rock Creek and north 
of Calvert Street, N. W., near the site of which my 
family now lives. 

Wliile in this hospital I received the ministering atten- 
tions of Sister Martha, a Catholic nun, who was an angel 
of mercy and goodness to me. I remained in the hospital 
for about three weeks, when at my own request I was 
transferred to Camp Convalescent, Alexandria, Va. 

About October 20th I rejoined the regiment at Pleas- 
ant Valley, Md., where I witnessed some forms of severe 
punishment meted out to men for various offenses. One 
man had the left half of his head shaved ; another had a 
barrel with the heads knocked out placed around him, the 
word "Thief" painted thereon, and was marched around 
camp. Others were bound to the wheels of the gun car- 
riage — "Spread Eagle" — and others dragged a big can- 
non ball chained to their legs. 

6 




GENERAL A. E. BURNSIDE 



TALES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

On October 26th, 1862, the army crossed the Potomac 
into Virginia on a pontoon bridge. A pontoon bridge is 
made of large flat bottomed boats anchored at both ends, 
with planks laid from boat to boat then covered with 
earth, or brush, to deaden the sounds of the crossing 
army. After crossing we marched through the rain to 
near Lovettsville, Va. The general issued an order that 
private property must be respected and we must not bum 
fences. As we needed hot coffee when chilled and rain- 
soaked our good Colonel Welsh said we might take the 
top rail of the fence for fuel. Of course, when we took 
the top rail the next rail in its turn became the top rail 
and thus we carried away the entire fence ; we took straw 
for bedding from the farmer's stack, so the general's or- 
der became a nullity. 

We marched on to Philomont, where we had a brush 
with the rebel cavalry under General Ashby. 

We proceeded by way of Rectortown, Orleans and 
White Sulphur Springs, Va., to Warrentown Junction; 
near the springs it snowed (November 15), and as we 
halted at noon to make coffee, I spied a large persimmon 
tree loaded with fruit. I shinned up the tree and while 
eating the luscious persimmons General Burnside and his 
staff officers and orderlies rode up and asked me to shake 
down some fruit, which I did. They ate and ate, and be- 
fore riding away courteously thanked me for my kindness. 

A few weeks after leaving Pleasant Valley, Md., found 
us encamped, November 19th, on the north bank of the 
Rappahannock River, opposite Fredericksburg, Va. Here 
we built winter quarters: We dug a "cellar" about 
eighteen inches deep, six feet wide and ten feet long, cut 
down small pine trees, notched the logs near the end 
and made the structure about five feet high, put sticks 

7 



A GRANDFATHER'S OFT TOLD 

and mud between the logs, and covered the top with 
our tents. We covered the floor thick with pine boughs, 
dug a shallow ditch around our hut and our winter quar- 
ters were complete and comfortable. 

On December nth, our army crossed the Rappahan- 
nock on pontoon bridges. We effected a crossing in the 
face of the enemy by running a battery of artillery to 
the bank of the river and driving the Mississippi sharp- 
shooters from the houses on the opposite side with a hot 
fire of shot and shell. Then details of men from the 
Fiftieth New York Engineers were rowed across and 
they soon constructed the bridge. After we crossed I 
went to the street along the bank and many tall Mississip- 
pians lay dead in the street and in the yards of the houses. 

This was the only place I ever saw men fishing for to- 
bacco. The rel)els had thrown cases of tobacco off the 
wharf into the river, first knocking off the wooden cov- 
ering, expecting the water to spoil the ping tobacco. 
Someone told us what had been done. Our boys ob- 
tained some boat hooks and quickly raised the tobacco to 
the surface, then lifted it by hand onto the wharf, pulled 
off the outer plugs, threw them away, and found that the 
inner layers were perfectly dry. 

Our troops charged up Maryes Heights, but were re- 
pulsed by the rebels ; our corps was in reserve all day, 
December 13th. We lay in the street and in the fields, 
the batteries on both sides shooting over us. The spec- 
tacle at night of bursting shells and sheets of flame from 
the cannon was an awful and horribly grand sight. 

Our forces lost 12,000 men killed and wounded. 

The next night we retreated across the river and again 
occupied our winter quarters. 

8 



TALES OF THE CIVIL WAR 



SECOND YEAR 

GENERAL BURNSIDE planned another attack 
on General Lee's position, but when in January, 
1863, the army was put in motion a thaw came 
on and the wagons and artillery became fast in the mire ; 
once more we went back to our winter quarters. This is 
called "The Stuck in the Mud" march. 

By reason of these failures General Burnside was re- 
lieved from the command of the Army of the Potomac 
and with the Ninth Corps was sent to Kentucky, where 
we arrived March 28, 1863. 

Our journey to Kentucky from in front of Fredericks- 
burg, Va., was by boat from Acquia Creek to Newport 
News, where we camped for a month making prepara- 
tions for our long journey west, then by boat to Locust 
Point, Baltimore, Md. 

Company D and Company C were detailed to unload 
our stores from the boat to the wharf and then onto a 
train of cars. Our sutler had his goods on the boat and 
he opened two jugs of whisky and furnished drinks free 
to the soldiers who would unload and reload his goods. 
The result was that almost the entire detail became drunk ; 
myself and one other comrade declined to drink. 

Among the regimental and commissary stores was a 
mound of about a thousand loaves of bread over which 
my comrade and myself were placed as guards. When 
a half drunken sergeant stationed us to watch the stores 
of food all night, he said, "If a single loaf of bread is 

9 



A GRANDFATHER'S OFT TOLD 

missing in the morning, I will put you both under arrest." 
I asked, "How many loaves in that pile?" He muttered, 
"I know." My comrade and I filled our haversacks with 
bread, sugar and other food and stood our wearisome 
watch all night. We were relieved in the morning and 
no census of the bread was taken. 

As soon as the tents, baggage and commissary supplies 
were loaded on the ironclad box cars of the Baltimore 
and Ohio road the train pulled out and after riding all 
night we arrived at daylight at Martinsburg, Va., where 
we found breakfast awaiting us. The food given us was 
a big hunk of boiled "fat back," grease dripping from it, 
a hunk of baker's bread and a pint of strong black coffee. 

After breakfast we journeyed on, passing through 
twenty-two tunnels, arriving next day at Parkersburg, 
W. Va. We were placed on board a steamboat and floated 
down the Ohio to Covington, Ky. From here we pro- 
ceeded to Paris, Ky., in the heart of the celebrated "Blue 
Grass" region. This is a limestone section just as beau- 
tiful and fertile as the Cumberland or Shenandoah Val- 
leys. 

The people were very hospitable, and as food was 
cheap we lived well, in fact we were doing "Sunday sol- 
diering," a sort of a dress parade existence. 

Colonel Welsh had drilled us to go through the manual 
of arms by the tap of the drum, not a command being 
uttered. There were 204 taps, and the people came by 
the thousands to see the regiment (a thousand men), drill 
in the manual of arms. At Houstonville, Ky., the kind 
hearted people gave a picnic to the privates and non-com- 
missioned officers on May 22, 1863. 

Our good times were abruptly interrupted by General 
John Morgan, a noted rebel cavalry commander, who at- 

10 



TALES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

tacked us at *7ini"town. Ky., (so called by the people in- 
stead of Jamestown, its true name), but he was over- 
matched and retreated back beyond the Cumberland River. 

At this time we were ordered to Mississippi to assist 
General Grant at Vicksburg. We marched to Lebanon, 
Ky., thence by rail to Louisville, Ky., Seymour, Ind., and 
Centralia and Cairo, 111. Our passage through Indiana 
and Illinois was made memorable by the treatment we 
received; the loyal citizens — men, women and children — 
greeted us with cheers, and waving of flags, and gave us 
baskets of good things to eat, and we feasted on the fat 
of the land. 

At Cairo we boarded a big steamboat and started our 
journey down the Mississippi River, and did not stop 
until we reached Memphis, Tenn., where we laid over 
and took possession of the city park for a week while 
the boat was cleaned and provisioned. We astonished the 
people with our fancy drills and our proficiency in arms. 

I came near drowning at Memphis as one day I went 
down to the Mississippi River to bathe ; the river is very- 
deep and the current strong. A long raft of hewn logs 
was close to the bank. I undressed thereon and jumped 
into the water, where I swam and sported until glanc- 
ing up I discovered that I had drifted down stream. I 
tried to swim back, but the current was too swift, so I 
turned and swam diagonally toward the raft, when an- 
other danger threatened — the water passed underneath 
the raft so quickly that it threatened to draw me under. 
I put all my strength into one spring from the surface 
of the water and landed on my bare abdomen on the raft, 
scraping the skin until it bled, but saving my life. 

Leaving Memphis we steamed to the Yazoo River and 
landed at Snyders Bluff, Miss., in the rear of Grant's 

11 



A GRANDFATHER'S OFT TOLD 

army, which had invested Vicksburg. Our duty was to 
protect the investing army from an attack by the rebels 
who were gathering in force under General Joseph Johns- 
ton at Jackson, Miss., and behind the Big Black River. 

Vicksburg capitulated July 4, 1863, and immediately 
the Ninth Corps started in pursuit of Johnston's army. 
At the Big Black River he delayed our march by a strong 
resistance to our crossing. We gave fight and he re- 
treated to Jackson. The night after we had crossed the 
river one of those fierce thunder storms common to South- 
ern countries occurred. We were suffering for water to 
drink, and as the lightning flashed, the thunder crashed 
and the rain fell in torrents, some of the boys stood with 
heads thrown back and mouths wide open, others with tin 
cups extended to catch the rain for a drink. The light- 
ning killed one soldier in the Thirty-Sixth Massachusetts 
Infantry. 

The next day the sun came up hot and we marched rap- 
idly after Johnston. Water was very scarce and we 
were so thirsty that despite the protests of the medical 
officers we drank from the muddy pools; on returning 
from Jackson these pools were covered with a green 
scum and the surgeons told us every drop of water was 
a drop of fever; some of the men disobeyed and were 
soon down with malarial fever. 

We marched through fields of growing corn covering 
great areas. Jefferson Davis, the president of the Con- 
federate States, had issued a proclamation advising the 
planters not to plant cotton, but to plant corn; some of 
these fields of corn were so large that it took us an hour 
to march through them following the planter's wagon 
road, and so high were the stalks of corn that a man on 

12 



TALES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

horseback could reach up to the ears which those of us 
on foot could not touch. 

At Jackson, Johnston gave fight behind fortifications 
and held us back from the loth to the 17th of July. On 
the loth our army had a sharp fight with Johnston's army. 
As we were in line of battle in the woods on the out- 
skirts of Jackson, I had several narrow escapes from be- 
ing killed. A large live oak tree festooned with Spanish 
moss stood just within the rebel line. Some rebel sharp- 
shooters hid themselves behind the tree and among the 
branches screened by the Spanish moss, they could see 
me, but for some time I could not make out whence the 
bullets came which zipped by my head and cut my cloth- 
ing. Finally I located them and calling to my comrades 
near by to aim at a certain spot in the tree, we fired and 
down came a rifle, followed by a dead rebel. We killed 
another by firing on both sides of the tree trunk, a third 
I quieted by firing into a bush in which he had concealed 
himself. I was struck on the left groin by a spent rebel 
bullet which did not break the skin but raised a big 
black lump. 

The men were in the trenches when the two company 
cooks came up with the coffee, but would not expose 
themselves to rebel bullets by going near enough to give 
the men their food. When I witnessed this I called them 
"shirks," "cowards," and other hard names, and taking 
a camp kettle of coffee in each hand, I walked over the 
crest of the hill down into the trenches and gave it to 
my comrades. The boys called me "good boy," "brave," 
and other terms of approbation. The rebels had shot at 
me but I was not hit. While the boys were drinking the 
coffee, I took one of their guns and kept blazing away at 
the "Johnnies," as we called the rebels. As soon as the 

13 



A GRANDFATHER'S OFT TOLD 

kettles were empty, I picked them up and started to re- 
turn them to the cooks ; as I reached the crest of the hill 
(all this time the "Johnnies" were shooting at me), I 
stopped and in derision defiantly waved the kettles at 
them ; this is when I was struck by a spent ball on the 
groin. As I doubled up with the force of the ball, the 
boys exclaimed, "Albert is hit, poor fellow." 

We had a little red-headed tailor in our company by 
the name of Raeber who was a notorious coward. In the 
battle on the loth he slunk behind and when arraigned 
by Colonel John I. Curtin, complained that his foot was 
so sore that he could not keep up; the colonel ordered 
Surgeon Christ to examine Raeber's foot. Slowly and 
laboriously Raeber took off his shoe and dirty sock with 
grunts of pain; the surgeon examined the foot and ex- 
claimed, "There is nothing the matter with the foot." 
Raeber said, "Oh, it is the other foot!" The colonel 
drove the coward into his place in the ranks where he 
was jeered at by his comrades. 

One night General Johnston evacuated Jackson, Miss., 
and ran away. We entered the city the next morning 
and a darkey told me where we would find a wine cellar. 
I helped myself to all the bottles of wine I could carry, 
drank some, and sold the rest at a dollar a bottle. The 
wine made me drowsy, so after I had left the city I lay 
down in the shade of some bushes and went to sleep. 
When I awoke the regiment had gone and I trudged 
after. I came to a planter's house in which some of our 
stragglers were pillaging. They so frightened the women 
that I took matters in my own hands, and ordered the 
stragglers away, threatening to shoot them. They swore 
that they would kill me, but when I refused to be scared 
they went ofif grumbling. The women of the house 

14 



TALES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

showed their thankfulness by giving- me some cooked 
food. 

In an hour or two I overtook the regiment and the 
comrades were rejoiced to see me as it had been reported 
that I had died from drinking poisoned wine. 

The next morning one of the Thirty-sixth Massachu- 
setts boys and myself raided a hive of bees standing in 
an orchard which had been planted in corn. We seized 
the hive and ran through the corn and the bees lost us. but 
not until we were pretty badly stung. We knocked the 
hive to pieces and took the honey combs out ; after eat- 
ing all we could we sold the remainder to our comrades. 
That night we were very sick, stomach ache caused by 
eating too much honey. 

The following day we tore up the railroad, piling up 
the ties and placing the rails on top, next setting fire to 
the ties; the heat waq3ed the rails, rendering them 
unfit for use. This crippled transportation for the rebels 
after we left. The following two days we marched back 
to our camp at Milldale, Miss. ; the dust was deep, water 
very scarce, the sun very hot, and in the evening myself 
and another short, sturdy Pennsylvania German were 
the only men of Company D who marched into camp, 
the others had given out and were scattered along the 
roadside. 

This ended our doings in Mississippi, for on August 
5th we took the boat and went up the river to Cairo, 111., 
and by rail to Cincinnati, Ohio. 

Our journey through Illinois and Indiana was a con- 
tinuous triumphal procession — we were greeted as heroes 
and victors, and beautiful maidens and kind hearted mat- 
rons pressed us to eat their food and take their bouquets 
of flowers. 

15 



A GRANDFATHER'S OFT TOLD 

We arrived at Cincinnati on August 12th, 1863, ^^^^ 
immediately crossed over to Covington, Ky. On August 
14th, Brigadier General Thomas Welsh died of conges- 
tive chills contracted during the Vicksburg campaign. He 
had made our regiment the fighting machine which it be- 
came and on many hard fought fields achieved the en- 
viable record of being the leading regiment of the Ninth 
Army Corps. 

From Covington we went by rail to Camp Dick Rob- 
inson, Ky , where we rested and recuperated. At this 
camp the regiment bought a fine horse which it presented 
to the Colonel, John I. Curtin. One evening at the close 
of dress parade, the regiment, much to the Colonel's sur- 
prise, was thrown into a hollow square around him and 
the other commissioned officers. A magnificent horse, 
saddled and bridled, was led up to Colonel Curtin, and 
in a few well chosen words presented to him. The Colonel 
took the reins and said, "Fellow soldiers," stammered 
and hesitated ; again he said, "Gentlemen and comrades," 
but could get no further ; with the remark, "Oh, damn it, 
I cannot make a speech," he rode away amid the cheers 
of the regiment which admired and respected its brave 
commander. 

On September loth we began a march of two hundred 
miles into East Tennessee via Cumberland Gap. Our 
way was among the hills and mountains of Eastern Ken- 
tucky, a wild, thinly settled section, its few inhabitants 
being called "poor white trash" by their more cultured 
and better-to-do neighbors of the Blue Grass region. 

Here, for the first time, we were among clay-eaters and 
snuff- dippers. The women as well as the men used to- 
bacco freely, smoking it in pipes and chewing both plug 
and leaf tobacco. 

16 



TALES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

One day we camped near a rude primitive still where 
the owner manufactured peach brandy. A mountain lass 
rode up with some garden "sass" for sale. I questioned 
her and she agreed to come on the morrow with twenty- 
five cents' worth of cooked string beans. She was as 
good as her promise and brought me about a gallon of 
string beans, cooked with a large piece of bacon. My 
tent-mates and I feasted for two days on that very de- 
lightful change in our diet of hard tack, salt pork and 
coffee. 

Men, women and children all rode on horseback, the 
horses and mules being like their owners — a run-down 
stock, lank and bony. 

In Cumberland Gap is a short stone pillar which marks 
where the States of Kentucky, Virginia and Tennessee 
corner. Many of the boys mounted the pillar and stretch- 
ing out their arms and legs boasted that they were in 
three States at the same moment. 

On October loth we fought the battle of Blue Springs, 
Tenn., where I was shot in the right foot. 

We charged the rebels posted behind a rail fence at 
the edge of a woods. A lieutenant of the Seventeenth 
Michigan Infantry, a beardless boy, received a flesh 
wound of the left cheek; in the front of his company, the 
blood running down on his new uniform, waving his 
sword and urging his men forward, he was the personi- 
fication of a hero. As the rebels broke and fled we halted 
and fired at them until they were out of sight in the 
woods. We then reformed our line and passed through 
the woods to a large open field beyond ; on the far side 
at the edge of another woods was the rebel line of battle 
supported by a battery of artillery. We advanced against 
them being received by volleys of musketry while the 

17 



A GRANDFATHER'S OFT TOLD 

cannon belched forth grape and canister. The rebels un- 
covered a large force on our right flank and we were or- 
dered to lie down until an attack by another of our regi- 
ments, upon the rebel left, would safeguard our flank. 

One of my tent-mates, Mike Jobson, and I were far- 
thest in advance against the enemy. We sought protec- 
tion behind a small stump which made us a conspicuous 
mark, and the bullets buzzed around that stump like bees. 
Here I was wounded and when the rebels were driven 
back I passed to our rear and fortunately met an aide 
carrying dispatches to the railroad station, who, seeing 
my plight, dismounted and lifted me on his horse. An 
old darkey on foot was with him. To the darkey he 
handed my gun and cartridge box; in buckling on the 
cartridge box the darkey put it on wrong side up and 
all the cartridges were spilled on the ground. The officer 
led the horse and the darkey trailed behind ; in this order 
we arrived at the station where I was lifted from the 
horse and was taken to the Mosheim Lutheran Church, 
which was filled with our wounded and sick. After my 
wound was dressed I went out into the graveyard and 
made a soldier's bed between two graves, where I slept 
all night. It was a clear frosty night, but the graves and 
my blankets kept me warm. 

The next day the wounded were placed on flat gondola 
cars and taken to Knoxville, Tenn., and put into a general 
hospital. We were besieged in Knoxville from November 
17th to 29th by the rebels under General Longstreet, after 
which they retreated toward Virginia. We followed and 
had trouble with them and made them trouble at Rutledge, 
Tenn., and at Blaine's Cross Roads, Tenn. At the latter 
place we went into camp; the weather was so cold that 
frozen ears and toes were common. The rebels were be- 

18 



TALES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

tween us and our base of supplies at Nicholasville, Ky., 
from which place our supplies were hauled by wagon a 
distance of nearly two hundred miles, hence we could 
get no food through. 

We sent our regimental wagons out into the country 
to gather corn. When the wagons came in at night the 
starving men gathered around and the ears of corn were 
thrown them in the same manner farmers throw com 
to the pigs. 

I had acquired an old-fashioned coffee mill. The coffee 
mill I had confiscated from a house when the folks were 
not looking. 

Fryberger and I parched our corn then ground it in 
the coffee mill, making a coarse meal ; from this we made 
corn pone. 

Charley took a mean advantage of me; "Albert, will 
you grind all the corn I bring?" I answered that I would, 
expecting him to come back with three or four ears. In- 
stead he went off after dark to brigade headquarters and 
watching his chance when the teamsters stood around the 
campfire, their eyes dazzled by the flames, he shouldered 
a bag of corn intended for the mules and stole silently 
away to our tent. This furnished our Christmas dinner 
in 1863; Charley supplied the corn, while I ground the 
corn and supplied the salt. 

Salt was so scarce that a greater part of the time we 
had none, and eating new corn and sometimes fresh meat 
without salt occasioned diarrhoea and stomach troubles. 
One night I was detailed with others to stand guard over 
headquarters' supplies. I investigated the supplies and 

19 



A GRANDFATHER'S OFT TOLD 

discovered a bag of salt. Informing the soldier whose 
beat adjoined mine of my find, he paced both beats while 
I filled my gauntlet gloves with salt, which I hid in a 
ravine close by. When we were relieved in the morn- 
ing we were all searched for the missing food, but none 
was found. Later in the day I went quietly into the 
ravine, secured mv great prize and conveyed it to our 
tent. Neither my tent-mate, Sergeant Fryberger, nor I 
suffered for the lack of corn or salt. 



20 



TALES OF THE CIVIL WAR 



THIRD YEAR 

JANUARY I, 1864, our regiment re-enlisted for 
three years more, or during the war. Scantily 
clothed, many with wornout shoes, with little food, 
the boys set their faces toward home, having been granted 
a thirty days' furlough. The ground was frozen and 
covered with snow. Many wearing moccasins made of 
hides of newly slaughtered beeves, the regiment started 
on a march of nearly two hundred miles over mountains, 
fording rivers and sleeping on the warm sides of trees 
or rocks, and in ten days reached food, clothing and a 
railroad, and were transported to Cincinnati, Ohio. The 
marks of bloody feet on the snow showed the heroism of 
the men of the Forty-fifth. At Pittsburgh, Pa., at one 
in the morning of February 6th, we were treated to a 
fine supper by the citizens, which contrasted vividly to 
the discreditable reception we received the next evening 
at Harrisburg, Pa. Here it was ascertained that as I 
had not served two years I was not entitled to the four 
hundred dollars bounty paid by the Government, but as 
I had come thus far a furlough for a month was allowed 
me. 

While on furlough at my home, Turbotville, Pa., I was 
introduced to Miss Sarah Ann Faber, a niece by mar- 
riage to my sister, Mrs. Henry S. Faber. Miss Faber 
was a brunette, beautiful and sprightly. She played such 
havoc with my heart that she is to-day your grandmother. 
She has been a loving, faithful wife, a wise mother, an 
honored and beloved neighbor and "her children rise up 
and call her blessed." 

21 



A GRANDFATHER'S OFT TOLD 

After spending the time pleasantly with relatives and 
friends we returned to Harrisburg in March, 1864, a"<^ 
were equipped with Springfield rifles instead of our old 
muskets. We then went to Annapolis, Md., where the 
Ninth Corps was reorganized by the addition of a fourth 
division composed of negro soldiers. 

Our ranks had been filled during our furlough with 
recruits who, being with old soldiers, soon became effi- 
cient. 

We marched to Washington, D. C, and were reviewed 
by President Lincoln, April 25th, 

During this review Company D was commanded by 
Lieutenant Evan R. Goodfellow. The reviewing party 
consisted of the President, cabinet officers and the gen- 
erals of the Ninth Corps who occupied the balcony of the 
Willard Hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue. Our corps 
paraded in full strength some 30,000 strong and passed 
in review by company front. As we came to the review- 
ing stand, the command was ''Present arms!" But our 
lieutenant, looking up and seeing General Burnside stand- 
ing alongside of President Lincoln, commanded "Three 
cheers for General Burnside!'' much to the amusement of 
the President and Burnside and to the consternation of 
the other lookers-on and the astonishment of the company. 

From Washington the regiment marched to Fairfax 
Court House, Va., camping at Bristow Station, which 
place we left May 4th, and on May 5th made a forced 
march to the Wilderness, where a battle was raging. The 
Union Army was commanded by General Grant and the 
rebel or Confederate Army by General Robert E. Lee, 
We went into camp the evening of the 5th of May among 
the wilderness of trees and brush and we knew that the 
morrow meant a great battle. 

22 



TALES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

As we stood around the camp fires waiting until the 
coffee should boil we laughed and jested. One of the 
boys called out, "Albert, where do you wish to be 
wounded to-morrow?" I replied, "In the arm, then I 
can wear it in a sling, go home and be a hero among the 
girls and get good things to eat." Lo, and behold, the 
next day a bullet fired by a Florida rebel did the work, 
crashing through my left elbow and fracturing two ribs. 
Words spoken in jest are often fraught with momentous 
consequences. For example, the evening before the battle 
of Blue Springs we were waiting for coffee and chatting 
about the approaching fight when I was asked how I 
wanted to be wounded the next day. "Give me victory 
or slightly wounded in the heel." Sure enough my 
bravado wish was granted. 

Long before daylight on the morning of the fateful 
sixth of May we were in motion and by daylight the rebel 
batteries opened on us but did us little damage as we 
were protected by the bank of a small creek. We next 
filed off some distance to the left, front faced and ad- 
vanced to find the foe. Companies A and K, the flank- 
ing companies, were pushed forward as skirmishers to 
find the enemy's line of battle which was hidden in the 
woods. As the skirmishers exposed the rebels, they 
rushed forth driving the skirmishers back on our line ; 
charging upon us and yelling, the Florida brigade de- 
livered a volley which killed and wounded many of us. 
I was hit in the left arm and doubled up like a jack knife. 
Our men cheered and gave a counter charge, driving the 
Johnnies way back; but I was not doing active duty for 
I was down and out, having fainted from the shock. 
When I revived a New York soldier was pouring water 
in my face from his canteen. As the day was very hot 

23 



A GRANDFATHER'S OFT TOLD 

and the air sulphurous and smoky the warm water from 
his canteen was unpleasant. I said, "Go away and let 
me die in peace." He replied, "Nonsense, you are bet- 
ter than a half dozen dead men," and placing his hands 
under my shoulders raised me to my feet. Putting his 
arm around me he guided me along a path until we came 
to a spring of water, then he poured the cool water on 
my head and arm, gave me a drink which revived me so 
that I went off alone in the direction of our rear. 

When I reached a road the ambulances were passing 
along with the wounded and one of the drivers made 
room for me alongside of him. We found our way to 
the Sixth Corps Field Hospital, where those worst 
wounded were placed full length on the ground ; I sat 
down on my knapsack. 

One of the attendants came around unofficially and 
glanced us over; he looked at my arm and side and re- 
marked, "H you were where you would receive proper 
attention, that arm could be saved." 

After a little while the medical director of the corps, 
in full uniform, accompanied by a large and brilliant 
staff, came along and examined the wounded soldiers; 
his usual order was, "Cut it off," or the one word, "Am- 
putate." When he reached me he took hold of my hand 
and raised it upward and knew at once that the arm was 
shattered. "Amputation," he ordered. "No, sir." I 
quickly responded, remembering what the attendant had 
said. W^ith a surprised look he said, "That arm is com- 
ing off." "No, it is not," was my retort. "Your death 
be upon your own head," he angrily replied. "On my 
own head," I acquiesed. Commanding his staff of sur- 
geons to follow him he walked to other wounded men 
and I was left without attention. By and by the attend- 
ant returned, took my big bandana handkerchief, made 

24 



TALES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

a sling of it, and wetting the shattered arm said, "Keep 
your arm wet all the time with cold water, and when 
you get to the general hospital the people there will know 
what to do." 

Just before dark my tent-mate, Charley Fryberger, 
brought in several hundred Confederate prisoners cap- 
tured by our brigade. That night I slept on the bare 
ground with my knapsack for a pillow. 

The next morning an ambulance train more than a 
mile long started off with the wounded and at dusk 
reached Fredericksburg, Va. Here we were placed in 
the Presbyterian Church, which was being used as a 
temporary hospital. We were given hardtack and hot 
coffee for our evening meal and our wounds were dressed. 

As the darkness thickened attendants with candles 
passed from one wounded soldier to another ministering 
to his wants ; at last the work was ended and the stillness 
broken only by groans of agony wrung from some pain- 
fully wounded soldier. The pews and floors in the audi- 
torium and galleries were covered with the wounded. 
Here and there a dimly burning candle glimmered in the 
dark church. A soldier in the organ loft touched the keys 
of the organ and struck a few chords. Here a voice and 
there a command cried out, "Home, Sweet Home," and 
as the organist played and sang that dear old song, sobs 
were heard all over the church and men wept as thoughts 
of home and mother made busy memories of days never 
more to come. 

In the morning through a driving rain, leaving behind 
those who had died during the night, our long ambulance 
train wended its way to Belle Plains. Va., on the Potomac, 
where we were placed on a steamboat and taken to Alex- 
andria, Va. 

25 



A GRANDFATHER'S OFT TOLD 

I was sent to the Mansion House Hospital and the 
surgeons decided that my arm could be saved. I was 
given a bath and dressed in clean underclothing and put 
in a clean bed. But, alas, the room was inhabited by 
droves of bed bugs which made continued sleep impos- 
sible. In the morning I complained to the Volunteer 
Nurse, a patriotic New Hampshire woman, and she and 
others tried to exterminate the pests. 

By this time I was so reduced in strength by the loss 
of blood through the wound and by excitement and shock 
that I could not eat. The dear old maid nurse went to 
the Sanitary supplies, procured canned chicken and made 
me broth, but my stomach refused it. Next she went 
to the market house, and with her own money bought 
strawberries which she prepared for me, but my appe- 
tite would not be tempted ; when she saw that I was so 
weak that I could not eat she sat down and cried. 

After a few days my dear old father and my brother, 
Luther, who had seen my name among the lists of 
wounded published in the newspapers hurried to Wash- 
ington, D. C, and brother obtained my transfer to the 
Germantown General Hospital. Father bade me a lov- 
ing good-bye and departed for our home. Brother took 
me to Germantown, Pa., and placed me in the hospital 
under the care of Dr. Leedom. 

The next morning the surgeons examined me and held 
a consultation. All were in favor of amputating my arm 
except Dr. Leedom, who argued that if the surgeons at 
Alexandria could save my arm those in Germantown 
were able to do as much. As I was very weak, so weak 
that there was a possibility that I could not undergo the 
amputation, the consultation ended in Dr. Leedom having 
his way. 

26 



TALES OF THE CIVIL WAR 

After a few weeks when it was apparent that I would 
recover, Dr. Leedom would bring in his colleagues and 
crow because his judgment had been vindicated, and 
someone would observe, "If he (the soldier) had not had 
the constitution of a young horse, he never would have 
pulled through." 

Every noon, the doctor's mother, (a Quakeress), and 
her colored servant came into our room with specially 
prepared food for me and several others of the doctor's 
patients. 

One day to the surprise of Dr. Leedom and myself 
poison appeared on both my hands; the doctor treated 
them and bandaged both. When his mother came to 
see me I was singing, much to her astonishment. The 
physician said the poison came from the skin of peaches 
which I handled. My recovery was rapid, though I had 
several backsets. Once gangrene appeared in the wound, 
at another time the wound became alive with maggots, 
and lastly erysipelas showed the whole length of the arm. 
However, Dr. Leedom was a skillful physician and suc- 
cessfully overcome all these ills. 

At last, December 9, 1864, I was discharged as con- 
valescent, though my wound did not heal shut for six 
weeks later. Altogether twenty-two small pieces of bone 
were taken from the shattered elbow. 

I had had my wish granted, had been shot in the arm, 
carried it in a sling, was a hero among the girls, and was 
petted and feasted. 

The sleighing during the winter of i864-'65 was fine, 
and sleighing parties and sleigh rides with one's best 
girl made us gay and happy. So earnest were my atten- 
tions to your grandmother that she consented to become 
my wife, and on September 20, 1865, we were married. 

27 



ALLEN D. ALBERT 

Private, Company D, Forty-fifth Pennsylvania Veteran 
Volunteer Infantry 



Engagements in which he participated 
Big Battles 



Fredericksburg. 
Siege of Vicksburg. 
Jackson. 


Blue Springs. 
Siege of Knoxville. 
Wilderness. 




Skirmishes 




Philemont. 
Jimtown. 


Big Black River. 
Halls X Roads. 
Blaines X Roads. 



28 



What it Means to Have Been a Soldier 
in the Civil War 

By Nathan L. F. Bachman. 

TO the man who measures his worth in blood and 
scars, that flag means something — whether he wore 
Blue or Gray. It is something to have been a soldier 
— on either side. It is something to have marched all day- 
long through rain and sleet, your knapsack and blankets 
on your back with spider and cup tied fast — your can- 
teen filled and with rifle and forty rounds of cartridges 
in your box — just for ballast — with plenty of holes in 
your shoes just to let in the water — and plenty more to 
let it out — while the tough, red-clay mud hangs on to 
them with all the persistency of a bad reputation ; "For- 
ward march," the whole day long, unless detailed to help 
lift a wagon or piece of artillery out of a mudhole — 
with bread and meat for breakfast, meat and bread for 
dinner, and for supper, the sweet but unsatisfactory mem- 
ory of how good they tasted, — and when thus wearied 
and worn, to see a battery of flying artillery go wheeling 
and thundering into position right in front of your line, 
and then, when the very minutes seemed hours, to hear 
the command to fix bayonets and forward in the face of 
a perfect hell of shrapnel, under whose fierce heat your 
lines melt away. It is something to have stood on the 
field of conflict when bursting shells and leaden death 
hurtled through the air and comrades were dropping on 
every side in obedience to the enemy's messenger of 
death ; where the cries of the wounded welled up through 
the night and the pale moon, breaking through the rifted 
clouds, looked down upon faces paler than its own — 
faces across which had passed the ghastly shadow of an 
eternal eclipse. It is something to have seen the waving 
lines advancing to the charge — to catch the glittering 

29 



sunshine upon a forest of steel — to have seen all the 
sights and heard all the sounds of mortal strife — some- 
thing sublime, yet terrible. It is something to have been 
a soldier inspired by duty unto daring and to death. But 
grandest of all and beyond description is the thrilling 
sight when riding into the enemy's ranks to have seen 
the flag you love and fight for, burst through the veil of 
smoke that wreathed it like a halo of glory — dazzling the 
vision as the vapory wreath is wafted aside — and to have 
heard the wild, exultant cheers of your comrades, all fol- 
lowing where its eagle pointed the way — to death, per- 
haps, but certainly to victory and glory. 

What a thrill of inspiration to deeds of daring there 
is in that shred of silk or bunting! What an incentive 
to valor is there in its mute appeal to do or die ! "Bring 
the Flag back to the line!" shouted a timid commander 
at a moment when victory wavered in the balance. 
"Damn you, bring the line up to the Flag!" was the grand 
and glorious response. And it is such an experience, 
mutually shared, that has cemented into a sacred and in- 
separable union, as comrades and brothers all, the men 
who wore the Blue, and the men who wore the Gray, 
and above them floats the banner of their mutual choice 
to which their united defence is pledged — the Stars and 
Stripes. 



30 



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